Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“We are creatures of the moment; we live from one little space to another; and only one interest at a time fills these.”
Had the woman with the haunted eyes and gentle hands been an ethereal creature or an apparition of his own making?
The low hum of voices and clinking of glass roused him awake.
Nurses in white aprons moved about the tent, tending to those stretched on beds.
His mind replayed the ghostly woman who’d set his restless spirit at ease.
She’d convinced him to sleep, and what a blessed sleep it was.
So deep, in fact, he struggled to decipher which of his memories from the past few days were real and which were fiction.
After stretching his stiff muscles, he sat upright with a moan. The orange tabby cat he’d cared for in the woods jumped from its coil at his side and meowed. He hadn’t seen it since he’d abandoned the petticoat in the underbrush. It was good to see that it was well.
A man wearing a white coat opened the tent flap to reveal the pink of dawn rising behind the hills. Monty was certain he’d reached these tents in full daylight, which meant he’d been asleep for almost an entire day.
The nurse stocking a crate with small glass bottles turned to him and smiled. She was real after all.
Monty’s blood stirred at this, sharpening his senses. She abandoned her task and walked to his bedside, hands in her apron pockets. “How are you feeling, Monty?”
He recalled asking her not to refer to him as Mr. Childs. If anyone here from outside of Johnstown connected his surname to his uncle, it could be downright dangerous.
“Much better now that I’ve gotten sleep.”
Purple shadows marred her skin beneath large brown eyes the color of the imported chocolates his aunt Adelaide used to purchase to spoil her guests at dinner parties.
Her mouth opened wide, and she covered it with her fingers.
“I’m glad to hear it. Now that you’ve gotten some rest, I should do the same. ”
The cat crawled onto his lap, knocking the blanket from his legs, but she caught it before it hit the ground.
She placed it at the foot of the bed then lifted the tabby and cradled it against her chest. “He’s been keeping vigil by your bedside since four o’clock yesterday.
I cleaned him up as best I could and rubbed some medication on his eye.
He was lucky to have survived and reunited with his owner. ”
Monty rubbed his crusted and slightly goopy eyes. He must have slept in a near coma. “He’s not mine. We found each other in the woods after the flood and kept each other warm one night.”
The cat stuck its nose in the air, purring loudly enough to garner the attention of most in the room. “How long have I been asleep?” he asked.
“Since yesterday, around the noon hour.”
“Have you been here this whole time?”
She snuggled the top of the cat’s head against her chin then placed him on the ground. She brushed dark, curly tendrils escaping her white cap with a sweep of her hand as if stalling her answer. “I stepped away long enough for meals.”
Monty placed a hand on his thigh and studied her closer. “Why have you not rested?”
Bottom lip clenched between her teeth, she reached for the blanket and began folding it. “I promised you I’d be here.”
He rocked back, stunned. These tents had dozens of patients. Surely she didn’t make individual promises to each one.
It was a comfort to know that amid all this chaos human kindness still existed. Her outward beauty intensified with her beautiful gesture.
“Thank you.” His throaty tone had him clearing his throat.
A pretty pink stained her cheeks. She looped the folded blanket across one arm, dark lashes fanning her cheeks. “No new or worsening symptoms?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well then, Monty, you’re free to go. A doctor rolled up your pant-leg after you fell asleep yesterday, examined your cut, and cleared you of infection. Promise me you’ll come back if you need anything.”
He stood, and a splinter of wood jabbed into the arch of his foot. The broken boards they’d laid as a makeshift floor were already sinking into the soggy earth from the weight of traffic. The hem of his too-long pants hugged the ground.
Monty searched for his boots and found them beside the bed. “I will Miss…?”
“Annamae.” Her voice was quiet. “Since, at your request, we’ve skipped formalities and gone straight to our given names.”
Her nose wrinkled with her grin.
“I hope I haven’t offended you.”
“Not at all.”
Annamae. A harmonious name worthy of a songbird species or the title of a graceful ship. Such romantic thoughts were rare for him in the best of times, but the fact they were hitting him now was, though not unfounded, still quite odd.
Monty bent and laced one boot then the other. “Thank you, Annamae. For everything.”
She halted his exit with a touch on his sleeve. “One moment.”
Tail in the air, the cat wound between his ankles.
She passed him the folded blanket, returned to the crate she’d been unloading, and scooped up a pile of fabric. “I found these in the supply tent while you slept. They should fit you more comfortably.”
Monty thumbed through the tidy stack. “That’s very thoughtful, but I don’t want to take these if someone else has greater need.”
She gestured to his collar. He looked down to find that two buttons he’d secured on the too-small shirt yesterday were missing, exposing the hollow of his neck and a sliver of his chest.
“Oh.” Now it was his turn to blush.
She grinned. “I’d say your need is as great as the next. You can always take what you’re currently wearing to the commissary later, and they’ll wash and mend them for someone else.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Keep the blanket. Donations are pouring in, and we aim to make sure everyone in Johnstown has at least one covering.” She reached inside her apron pocket and pulled out a tin of salve. “Your home, your church. Do they remain?”
He accepted the tin. “There’s no salvaging my home. The church will need to be gutted and repaired but stands.”
“You don’t plan to sleep beneath the steeple again, do you?”
“I hope to never step foot inside an attic another day in my life.”
“Where will you stay?” Those large, curious eyes blinked up at him, concern written in their weary corners.
“If John the Baptist survived living in the wilderness, I suppose I can too.”
He was jesting, but no humor lit her face.
“I would feel better if you’d let me help you find lodging. Can you follow me to headquarters? It’s not far.”
“You’ve already been gracious, Miss Annamae. I won’t take any more of your time.”
“Please? My tent is in that direction anyway. Now that you’re awake, I plan to sleep the day away.”
What else did he have to do? There’d be no Thursday afternoon Bible study. He had no Bible, no meeting place, and his congregation was either scattered or passed away.
His heart wished to ease her sweet concern for him. “After you.”
He gestured to the front of the tent.
She quickly stripped the sheet from the tick mattress and the pillowcase from the paper-thin pillow and stuffed them into a large barrel on the way out. The cat followed beside them.
The destroyed landscape came alive with the breaking of day. People milled about delivering supplies, standing in line for medical help, walking to the commissary, sifting through debris, and any number of things. He was grateful the Red Cross had come to their aid.
Monty slowed his steps on the muddy earth to keep pace beside her.
“Supplies and volunteers are arriving on nearly every train.” She gestured to the people rushing about. “I can’t believe how quickly folks have rallied together to help.”
He was sure her words meant to offer comfort, but none came. All the comforts their lives had afforded were stolen the second the dam collapsed. It would take months to rebuild Johnstown, if not years. Their lives would never be the same.
Not wishing to be rude by remaining silent, he joined the conversation. “How are supplies getting here? The water washed away or mangled the tracks beyond use.”
“The trains can get as far as South Fork. That’s how we arrived. I’ve heard that from there, supplies are being taken over a pontoon bridge to a swinging bridge and then brought down into the valley.”
The name of South Fork brought acid into his throat.
Monty had been to the fishing and hunting club named after the stopover town as his uncle’s guest and had witnessed how close the surface of the water was to the crest of the dam during normal weather.
After his uncle had commanded the dam be lowered to make the service road from the station to the club wide enough for two carriages to pass, the middle started to sag—an issue his uncle had ignored as easily as one might a gnat at a picnic.
They turned and cut down an aisle between tents. Annamae’s brow furrowed as they sidled past patients lying on beds and hanging over chamber pots.
“What is it?” he whispered.
She looked from left to right then pulled him away from any listening ears. “I’m confiding in you as a man of the clergy. We don’t wish to start a panic. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“Every watershed for miles is contaminated. This town is in very real danger of typhoid fever. Some have already been exhibiting signs, though no cases have officially been declared.”
Her embarrassing question from yesterday surfaced in his mind. That explained why she was adamant that he stay under her care in case his health grew worse. Typhoid fever was highly contagious. A few cases could turn into an epidemic within days.